Not So Under the Weather
by Of Sandwiches and Sea-Monsters
Summary: Several months into their marriage, Mary finds herself a little unwell. Matthew makes the mistake of bringing it up at dinner with their family. Fluffier than a goose down pillow. Future fic because it's going to happen.


A/N: _I really can't remember why we started to write this. But write it we did, on a spontaneous burst of M/M happiness helped along the way by enticing Christmas special photos and suchlike! In any case, does M/M happiness ever need a reason? We rather think not._

_Anyway, we do hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!_

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><p><strong><span>Not So Under the Weather<span>**

There had been nothing remarkable about dinner up at the Abbey so far. There rarely had been, in fact, about any dinner Matthew and Mary had had there since their marriage several months previously.

In a pause in the general conversation, Robert turned to Cora and said, "Did I tell you Hoskins at the farm's gone down with a fever as well? Clarkson says it's nothing serious, certainly not the 'flu, thank God, but still very distressing that they're so shorthanded."

"It's that time of the year," replied his wife in a conciliatory tone, "but it's very disagreeable to think of them all unwell."

Matthew raised his head from where he'd been staring at his plate in thought, and glanced across at Mary.

"Is there something going round?" he asked politely. He supposed Cora was right, it was 'that time of the year', but... this seemed something else, and it had been worrying him.

"Seems to be," Robert nodded, "It's a rotten thing!"

"Ah." Matthew set his fork down, and tapped the table lightly. "You see, Mary's been a little unwell recently - haven't you, darling? - so I hope it's only that, if it's making the round. Sickness, hot flushes, that sort of thing. I've been telling her to see Clarkson for days!"

Mary looked up suddenly in consternation from where she had been pushing an unappetising piece of lamb round her plate and stared straight at her husband. Of all the things to bring up at dinner...!

"Oh, darling, you really must!" said Cora, immediately followed by her father adding unhelpfully,

"Those are different symptoms to what Hoskins described. He didn't mention any nausea, only a headache and -"

Mary swallowed and interrupted him before he could say anything else. "I did - see Clarkson. Yesterday morning." She shrugged it off. "He said it was nothing- nothing at all." She turned appealingly to Matthew. "I never got round to telling you." Then she forced herself to look normal and eat some of the lamb, trying desperately not to grimace. It was _disgusting_.

"You did?" Matthew frowned at her. "Why didn't you say so, darling? You know I've been worried."

Part of him was aware that really, he should be saving this conversation until they were at home. But really, he _had_ been worried – in all the years he'd known Mary, now that he thought about it, he'd never seen her really unwell. In any case, he was sure he'd mentioned Clarkson again last night – she'd had plenty of opportunity to 'get round to it'! He stabbed a potato on his fork but made no move to raise it to his lips.

Mary's reaction and Matthew's perseverance had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the company and a strange kind of silence had settled over them. Mary swallowed the lamb and took a large gulp of water to wash away the taste. Matthew was being utterly infuriating. She hadn't told him of the Doctor's visit and what he had confirmed because she hadn't known how to, she had been afraid, waiting for the right moment. Whenever that was, it certainly wasn't now.

She glared at him next to her. "I should have done, I'm sorry. But," she forced a bright smile, "there was nothing to tell, really!"

"But sickness and hot flushes aren't nothing!" said Edith. "Mary could be quite seriously ill! Clarkson has been wrong be-"

"I'm not seriously ill!" snapped Mary into a dead silence and she stared down at her plate again.

Matthew stared at her, crestfallen. With a small sigh, he shook his head at her, taken aback by the sharpness of her reaction. He was a little hurt, if he was honest. But he didn't want to argue with her now - well, at all! But certainly not in front of her family, who were making no attempt to fill the now awkward silence. However, he was reluctant to simply let it drop, and he really couldn't see what was bothering her so much if it really was 'nothing'.

"Well did he - did he give you anything for it? Recommend anything?"

Mary could quite happily have stabbed her husband in the eye with her fork at that moment. Fortunately, before she could reply, her grandmother came to the rescue. Violet had been watching the exchange with great interest, interest which turned to sympathy as it progressed.

"Oh good, Matthew, let's discuss medicine! Who needs Sybil when we can have Mary reciting Dr. Clarkson's prescriptions at the dinner table!"

Mary shot her a thankful glance and managed to say in a more easy tone, "Granny is quite right. Who wants to hear that?" One of the advantages of sitting next to Matthew was that she could do what she then did: she kicked him under the table.

"Well -" He stopped short, hissed in pain as she kicked him. Really! Why was she so angry with him? He couldn't understand. In the few months they'd been married, she'd never been so sharp with him. He glared at her, then tried to smile at Violet. "Forgive me, cousin Violet, you're right of course. I'm only concerned for my wife, but that can wait 'til later, I'm sure." It might have been uncharitable of him, but - well, he was worried, frustrated, and now his ankle hurt as well! Frustrating though it was, however, Matthew did have _some_ sense in him… and let the matter drop.

If dinner had regained its momentum after Violet's interference, the time the ladies spent in the drawing room was dreadful. Her grandmother had pulled her aside before even her mother could get to her and by dint of being, well, her grandmother and knowing everything in advance, had quickly established the truth. She had promised to hold her tongue, which she had so far, but had remained infernally smug for the rest of the evening, leading Robert to make confused remarks about what she was hiding after he and Matthew had joined them.

For his part, Matthew had been quiet, the rest of the evening. He'd hardly dared say anything in case he was snapped at again. The room had seemed more oppressive than usual, and Mary suggested walking back to the village, however late, before she realised what an opportunity of being alone with Matthew that would give her. Too late. They were bundled out into the cool night.

As far as Matthew was concerned, it was a welcome suggestion - it afforded them some time, some peace. Mary took his arm automatically, but remained silent, the only sound the crunching of their feet on the gravel. She knew she ought to apologise for dinner, that actually she had to tell him now, but it was so difficult to introduce the subject. Her stomach churned nervously.

Eventually, when it seemed they were distant enough from the house, Matthew decided he could bear it no longer. Whatever the right or wrong of it, this silence (certainly not their usual, comfortable one) was intolerable. Rubbing his hand over hers where it lay settled on his arm, he apologised; though in truth he still didn't know what he'd done to warrant it.

"I'm sorry for dinner," he said, with only a little dejection in his voice. "I didn't mean to make you angry. Are you alright though, darling, really?" He turned his face to look at her, eyes shining with apology and concern.

She smiled slightly and leaned in towards him, taking comfort from him even as he was the source of her discomfort. "I am, really," she reassured him and then sighed, turning away to gain some courage. "But I wasn't quite straight with you either, I'm afraid," she continued softly after a moment. "Dr. Clarkson didn't say it was nothing. In - in fact, it's quite a big something!" She let out a rush of nervous laughter. "Oh, darling, you did make a bit of a fool of yourself there, describing my symptoms to a party of women!" She briefly squeezed his arm more tightly to show that she was not really angry at him.

Well, at least she no longer seemed angry, but Matthew was little the wiser; though a gentle unease started to stir in his gut. He smiled anxiously.

"Did I? You say it as if it's an illness only a woman could understand! I -" Suddenly, his own words seemed to lift a veil from his perception. His heart started to thud uncomfortably. "I – oh... Darling - what?" he finished breathlessly, not daring to verbalise the thought, not if he was wrong - it seemed he'd already made a fool of himself, and - good Lord! His lips parted and he stared desperately at her.

Mary watched him out of the corner of her eye and saw the very moment when he understood. She looked at him properly and encouraged him to make all the connections. His own shock and disbelief gave her confidence and a feeling of superior understanding and she clutched his arm even more and laid her other hand over his. "You see," she chided very gently, "I think we should have had this conversation before you brought it up with my family!"

He swallowed heavily, eyes flitting wildly over her face. "I - I think so! Why - oh, my darling. Why didn't you tell me?" His fingers wrapped tightly around her hand, as though he clung to her for dear life. "I mean - you are... Are you?" It was still too much to take in, he needed to hear it from her lips before he could even consider it.

"Oh yes, quite definitely!" she replied in a rush, her eyes shining. She couldn't help it and her lips pressed together to try to control her smile. Somewhere, somehow, fear had given way to joy and a kind of irrepressible excitement. (She would suspect later her grandmother's reaction, as much as it had annoyed her at the time, played a large part.) Nothing could be more natural, nothing could make them more blessed. Her eyes searched over his face. "Are you - are you happy?"

"Happy?" he choked the words out, feeling some strange disconnection between his mind, his lips, his feelings... As though he couldn't quite connect the pieces, but could only get a feel of the picture, which was... pure, utter joy. He stopped walking, turned properly to her and gripped her hands, grinning irrepressibly. "Yes, my darling... Yes, I am happy! Of course... How could you ever imagine otherwise?" His eyes shone with enormous affection, as though there were nothing else in his world beside her.

She felt almost faint with relief and her smile blossomed into something quite beautifully radiant. She clutched his hands more tightly. "I - I don't know! I wasn't sure-" She broke off and swallowed then added, her lip trembling and her voice not much better, "July. That's what Dr. Clarkson said."

Matthew's smile was breathless, and his grasp on her hands tightened. "July? Oh... Oh, Mary. Darling, I - I love you, so much." Finally, he managed to release his grip with one hand and touched her cheek gently, somehow communicating through it all his love.

She didn't reply, couldn't reply. She could only look at him with adoration and, rather unnecessarily, tears in her eyes. She felt quite overcome both by her own love for him and by his response to her and their news. Then she shivered as the chilly breeze floated past them. "Come, dearest" she managed, blinking away her tears and looking down, "let's go home."

Her shiver caused a rush of protectiveness in Matthew, and his face fell. "Of course - well, are you alright? It's not too late to turn back and have the car sent for... We must take care of you, darling." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, pressing a warm kiss to her cold cheek.

She couldn't help laughing suddenly through the haze in front of her eyes at his sudden concern. But it warmed her as much as his physical actions did. She leaned into him again and clasped his arms with her hands in return. "There's no need for that, my dear. A walk will do me good. And," she looked up at him again, her expression melting again though a little gleam remained, "I know you'll take care of us beautifully."

"Well, I - I certainly hope so!" he laughed nervously. He felt a sudden prick of fear as he began to consider the responsibility now upon him, but... what a beautiful responsibility it was. "I do hope so," he said again, more seriously, with a gentle smile.

They began to walk again and he tucked his arm snugly around her back, knowing they were unlikely to be seen at this time of the evening. He wouldn't have cared if they were. She automatically laid her own hand on his back, below his shoulder blade, taking care to avoid the sensitive area of his lower back, and then leaned her head sideways to bump against his as they walked.

"There's no 'hope' about it, darling: you will! You will be," she continued dreamily, "the most wonderful, the most caring, the most loving father any child ever had." Her heart began to beat faster at the images, the ideas and all her feelings that were flooding through her as she spoke. She even imagined, though rationally she knew it to be impossible, that she could feel another, fainter heartbeat against her own... She imagined it and more tears started to her eyes and she dashed them away with her hand before covering her belly, quite unconscious of the action until a second afterwards.

Love swelled unbearably in Matthew's chest, so fierce it was almost painful. "Darling... I think," he whispered, voice breathless and trembling with deep emotion, "that our child shall be very, very loved." His smile wavered just a fraction, and his fingers scratched distractedly at her back as he leaned, bringing his lips close to her ear. "Do you - do you think it's alright to be a little bit scared, as well?"

He or she would be, Mary thought. She might feel terribly unsure about _how_ to go about being a mother (in fact that was a word she had hardly allowed herself to use in her thoughts still) but that she would love them would be certain, whatever stupid things they might do. They could hardly be worse than what she had done. In answer to his question, she murmured back, her breath ruffling his hair.

"Yes, I hope so!" She blinked her eyes clear of tears. "I was very scared- but then I told you." She turned her head so she could meet his eyes warmly, very close to hers.

Matthew saw the tears in her eyes, and was forced then to blink away his own. He felt as though his smile were cracking apart, it was too great to maintain. "I'm very glad you did!" he exclaimed softly, and very fondly. They were going to have a child. How natural, how _right_ it seemed. "Thank you," he murmured.

Those horrible, horrible months, when he'd thought this could never happen, suddenly flooded back to him, and he was forced to look away. Having been forced to accept the idea, the devastation, that he would never be a father, made the reality of it now all the sweeter. As a consequence of that darkness he would appreciate and love this child more than he ever would have done before, if that were even possible.

She held his gaze for a moment, not trusting herself to say any more. There was no need; her expression was eloquent enough. They continued to walk slowly, though without dawdling, wrapped in each other's arms and probably very similar thoughts, making only the odd remark. By the time they reached home, a welcoming light on in the hall, Mary found herself more tired than she had expected to be and colder too.

Molesley let them in and took their coats with the usual polite enquiries after their evening. When he had departed, Mary moved to the first stair and looked down at her husband. She smiled tremulously at him, raised her eyebrows very slightly in silent communication that she was tired, was going to bed, and would be very glad of his company, and then made her way up stairs.

Following her upstairs, Matthew kissed her on the cheek as she went into the bedroom. "I'll be in in a moment, dear," he promised, and went to his study. With a cursory glance over the desk, he rifled through the files there and made sure he had everything ready for the following day, as was his custom. As his hand was on the door to leave, though, he stopped, and looked back at the room. He crossed over to the window, and looked out into the darkness. It really... had a lovely prospect. It had always been his favourite room in the house, and... would make a perfect nursery, he thought with a smile. He indulged the notion for a little moment, still not quite able to believe it, then went to prepare for bed.

Mary had told Wilson not to wait up before she had even left for dinner; she was left all to herself, or all to _him_, she thought privately with a smile, pulling pins out of her hair as she crossed the room to her dresser. Before she reached it however, she hesitated in front of the full length mirror. She lowered her hands from her hair, half of it tumbling round her shoulders, the other half still knotted in a bun, and looked at herself critically. Then she turned to survey her profile and smoothed her hands over her dress. Absolutely nothing. No sign at all. She frowned at the mirror. Surely there must be something? She was so intent on looking at herself that she didn't notice Matthew return.

When he came in, and saw her staring studiously into the mirror, Matthew smiled with warm affection. She hadn't seen him, he realised, and for a moment he indulged himself by simply watching her. She was his wife, and they were going to have a child, and he wasn't sure he'd ever felt such contentment in his life.

Eventually, he smiled and, starting to make his way to her, said, "Yes, darling, you are beautiful. Quite, quite perfect, my love." He reached her, and his hands slid around her waist to cover hers as he laid his chin on her shoulder.

She jumped slightly when he spoke before shaking her head at her silliness to be alarmed and at her vanity. As he put his arms round she sighed contently and leaned back against him. She shuffled round so that she was facing the mirror again and met his eyes in it. They were really very handsome, she thought with satisfaction. Their child would be... her lips parted in amazement. She had no idea.

They would be so _very_ loved. She smiled at him.

"For now, perhaps. But it won't last, dearest; give me a couple of months..." She shook her head with mock wistfulness though her heart beat more swiftly with a reawakening of fear.

He smiled, kissed her cheek, still looking at her in the mirror. "A couple of months, and you'll only look more beautiful, my darling. Because..." Suddenly overwhelmed, he had to stop and take a shuddering breath, as his arms tightened around her. It was too much to think of. "Because it's our child, darling, and... you will look quite wonderful."

She pulled her hands from under his to clasp his, trapping them between her stomach and her arms, breathing in with him, their hearts beating as one. Love and security, so strange to think of after everything, washed pleasantly over her. "I never thought I'd be so happy - so fortunate," she admitted. "I never thought it was possible. Oh, dearest..." And her arms tightened.

That she was happy, made Matthew happy. That it was he who made her happy... even more so. He felt such a privilege, such an honour, that she had chosen him, and that she trusted him to be her husband and love her and provide for her - and - their child.

"I'm so glad that you are," he whispered into her ear, with a soft kiss that accompanied his words. "It's all I want, my darling."

She sighed again but the mirror was no longer enough and she shifted suddenly round so that she was facing him and his arms were round her waist. Her own hands slid up his arms to rest loosely on the curve of his neck.

"Then you must be very happy too," she whispered back smilingly and leaned up to kiss him.

For one beautiful, indulgent moment, he smiled into her kiss, rubbing his hands warmly up and down her back. "I am," he eventually murmured against her lips. "So, so happy. Much more than I deserve to be, I'm sure - certainly than I ever thought I could be." He moved his lips from hers, to her cheek, to her neck, in a soft, delicate trail of kisses.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she gave herself up to the feel of his lips on hers and on her face and that particular spot on her neck he knew she liked... But her response was muted, however tightly her arms round his neck were clasped. She pressed her own kisses gently to his cheek as he made his way back up her jawline and then, quite unexpectedly and helpless to stop it, she yawned widely, the yawn dissolving into a suppressed giggle, and she buried her face in his neck.

"Oh, darling!" Matthew chuckled gently, shivering pleasantly at her warm breath on his neck. "I hope I'm not boring you." His hand stroked up her back, to the back of her neck, to brush over her hair. "Would you like to go to bed?" he whispered, even as he started teasing the remaining pins from her hair.

She raised her head and smiled ruefully, cupping his cheek with one hand, her eye catching on the beautiful wedding band on her finger. "If you don't mind, Matthew." She hesitated, her eyes closing briefly at the sensation of his fingers combing through her hair, then said murmured, "I don't think I'd ever have dared to yawn at any other husband! It was terribly unladylike of me." She pressed her lips tenderly to his for a lingering moment in apology and love before pulling back, her hands moving to his tie and beginning to unknot it.

His eyes closed as she kissed him, with a fond sigh. "It's quite alright. It's been quite an exhausting evening!" He wasn't sure how removing a tie could feel so loving, so intimate, but it did - somehow more so now than it ever had before. There was more between them now, a new depth to their love, impossible though that seemed. A greater connection between them, a real, physical one; that only deepened the connection they already shared by promise and vow. His hands fell from her hair to her shoulders, and when she had dropped his tie to the floor, and then his jacket, he turned her gently and started to work the clasps of her dress. As his fingers worked in well-practised movements, he dropped soft kisses onto her shoulder, smiling against her skin.

"How fortunate," Mary said, lazily stretching up her arms to allow the dress to fall to the ground, "that fashions have simplified. You never would have coped with a corset!" She kicked off her shoes and turned around, in nothing but her slip and stockings, to undo his shirt.

"I'm quite sure I'd have managed, darling," he said deeply. He sighed at the sensation of her fingers skimming lightly over his front, feeling only the pleasant rush of adoration and closeness at this liberty. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and he smiled as he observed the care and focus with which she undressed him.

"One day I'll hold you to that!" she replied as she pushed his shirt off his shoulder and stepped back to fold it. Her eyes skimmed appreciatively across his chest and then, with a smirk and a caress she walked away to her dressing table, placing his shirt on a chair as she passed. "I leave the rest to you, darling!" She sat down and efficiently removed her jewellery and her stockings.

For a moment or two, he remained still and watched her go about her little routines, looking at her with a new appreciation. If you'd have asked him this morning if it were possible to love her any more, he would've laughed at such a ridiculous idea. But then, she always managed to surprise him. With a little contended sigh, he removed the rest of his clothes and dressed for bed before moving to stand behind her, tracing his hand across her shoulders as she finished. He didn't want to spend even a moment that he didn't have to away from her.

She was on the point of attempting to plait her hair as Wilson usually did before bed or at least tie it back in some way when Matthew came to stand behind her. She twisted round to look at him. "You wouldn't mind if I didn't bother with my hair, would you?" She shook her head so that it tumbled all over her shoulders in a cloud. "I'm really far too tired to bother..."

"Not at all, darling. It's nice to see it down, for a change," he replied, bending and pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. He really was exhausted. Stifling a yawn, he stepped back so that she could stand up, and went to switch the lamp on his bedside cabinet on.

She knew he wouldn't mind so only smiled and stood up. She crossed to her side of the bed, removed her slip and picked up her nightdress. Before putting it on, however, she hesitated and glanced down then across at Matthew. She smoothed her hand over her stomach again, marvelling.

"It really is impossible to tell!" she murmured. "But it's true all the same."

Matthew had already pulled back the covers, but now walked around and sat on the edge of the bed in front of Mary. Reaching out, he lightly grasped her waist and brought her towards him, and made a show of studying her (definitely flat) stomach.

"Quite impossible..." he murmured, running his fingers softly over the perfect smoothness of her skin. He smiled, and kissed over her belly tenderly. "But _we_ know," he smiled, and looked up at her. "How wonderful it is, darling."

She returned his smile and felt a fluttery warmth partly from watching him kiss her in such a strangely intimate way and partly from the sensation of the kiss itself. She ran her hand fondly through his hair. She had had all these thoughts, experienced all this wonder before within herself many times over the last couple of weeks. To say them out loud and share them with Matthew made them real in a way they hadn't been until now.

"Yes," she replied, quickly pulling her nightdress over her head and doing up the ties. "We do know." She pushed him lightly back so that she could get into bed. As she did so she added, "And I'm sure everyone at the Abbey will by now as well. Granny promised not to say anything but I'm not relying on her for a moment!" She rolled her eyes at him.

Raising his arm and the covers so that she could get in beside him, Matthew laughed, then lay on his side, gazing at her. "Oh my dear... I'm so sorry if I made things difficult for you." He lifted his hand heavily from where it lay on her hip, to touch her cheek gently, before he shifted closer to her.

"Not really," she replied softly though with a touch of irony. "If they know, then we don't have to make an announcement!"

Their legs entwined in a familiar comfort, and Matthew felt a greater closeness to her than ever before in their marriage.

"I love you," he murmured sleepily, finding his eyelids heavy with sleep now that they lay in the warmth of their bed together.

She snuggled closer to him and bit her lip as an aching wave of love washed over her at the sight of him, sleepy and content. It was going to be alright. Whatever fears she knew she would have would be easily dealt with since she had him by her side. She smiled affectionately at him and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

"I assume, my dearest love" she breathed, "that you are using the plural pronoun there." Then she kissed him imprecisely on the corner of his mouth.

"Well, of course," he mumbled, lips moving just a fraction to meet her kiss, but his eyes had already dropped closed. From now on, it would always be that. He loved Mary, and he loved their child - both of them, and now it was the three of them. They would be a family. It spun around his head as he let his hand finally rest on her stomach. What a delightful thought to fall asleep to.

Mary turned round onto her other side and pulled his arm over her waist, tucking herself against him. Then she finally let her eyes close.

**The End**

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><p>AN: _We reccommend a visit to the dentist after reading. Feedback is of course enormously appreciated, it's always lovely to hear what you thought!_

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